As a family that doesn’t look like the majority of families around here, we’ve heard our fair share of stupid things. And have been on the receiving end of stupid looks. But this, today, took (takes? Grammar help, WW?) the cake.

I was with the boys at the Y. Signing up. (Another post…) A women stopped to talk to the boys, which I honestly don’t mind. Unless something stupid comes out of their mouths. And sure enough…

“Did your mom find you on a doorstep?”

I kid you not. You could have knocked me over with a feather. I have words to describe my immediate reaction, but they’re…not fit for print on this blog. A firm “ABSOLUTELY NOT” was about all I could muster with my evil go-away laser eyes. Could I have done better? Sure, but those words didn’t come to me until later.

As we walked back out to the car, me carrying my 15 mo old in one arm and holding the hand of my sweet nearly 4 year old boy in the other, it was all I could do to not cry right then and there. For she, the one with the soul-piercing words, had no way of knowing that the boy to whom she spoke was born in a far-away land where yes, indeed, there are little ones left on doorsteps.

So, I’ve obviously taken a bit of a blogging break, for a few reasons. First, I kind of just ran out of things to talk about. How many different versions of daily life with 2 little boys can there be? There’s a good chance that noise, an injury, a mess (or, um, lots of them), and poop are involved each and every day. Also, coffee and Advil. Lots of both. Such is my life, and it’s the greatest. Each and every day I am reminded that I yearned for this life for so long, and now I have it. Not to say that they don’t drive me bat-snot crazy at times, they do!

The second reason is a bit more complicated. There’s a lot of adoption related stuff I’d like to talk about, but we are insanely private people when it comes to stuff regarding the boys’ adoptions. Adoption speak in general, sure, I’m there. (Side note – I just spelled sure s-h-u-r-e, we are working on letter sounds around here, can you tell?) There is so much I’d like to throw out in the open about…well, everything. But we don’t discuss it openly – stuff like circumstances surrounding P’s birth and placement, stuff about J’s Ethiopian past. It’s their history to disclose, not mine. And yet, sometimes there’s a need to commiserate with those who have been there, who understand. I thought about starting (yet another!) blog that was completely anonymous, but without even linking to here or FB, I wouldn’t get any readers.

Life around here now is busy. J is in preschool 2 days a week and P keeps me running from one disaster to another. Literally. He can scale the couch, get into the (unflushed, thanks to brother) potty because someone (aka, brother) left the door open, yank out all the pans, eat the dog food, and yank the lights off the tree in mere minutes. The tree…yes, Christmas is upon us.

I’ve been called (jokingly) a bad parent on FB because of this. J is now at the age where everywhere we go, even at preschool, Santa comes up. We’ve managed to avoid it the last few years, but this year we just can’t. It’s not something we want to start with him. We’ve made deliberate intentions this year to focus on a true Christmas – Christ coming for us. Gifts are pared down for everyone. We’re doing more when it comes to giving – Salvation Army buckets, Angel Tree at church, etc. It’s the spirit of Christmas we want to teach – not the toys.

So, I did it. I told J that Santa isn’t real. I told my 3 yr old that Santa isn’t real. He does know that some people don’t know that and not to tell. Santa, to him, is a game that people play at Christmas time. It’s fun and pretend. (And I hope I don’t get angry parents at his preschool after me…)

2 reasons. The first, already mentioned. The second – we have a No Lies policy with our kids when it comes to life matters. Learning the details of your own personal adoption story and digesting those issues is hard for a kid. Considering most learn the truth about Santa at about the time they begin to generally comprehend adoption loss…it didn’t make sense for us. To have an unknown in your background, or a less than stellar pre-birth environment – the truth needs to be told. And to make Santa real, then, whoops, he’s not, just doesn’t make a lot of sense to use. Quite possibly I’m not getting the correlation between the two through in my words, but in my mind, it makes perfect sense. No lies.

(Although, the “are you and daddy going to have ice cream after I go to bed?” question does NOT apply in this situation.)

And I’ve been doing lots of reading about adoption and ethics lately. Like this. It’s so complicated. If I new then what I knew now…we probably would have chosen a different agency. But then we wouldn’t have J. (And he wouldn’t have languished in an orphanage. He just would have went to someone else.) And he is certainly our son. A perfect fit.

I am overwhelmed daily. Not just by the noise and chaos (and laundry, dishes, and bathroom that constantly smells like pee, thankyouverymuch son), but by my family. This is another post, but becoming parents was nearly 10 years in the making….and they are worth it.

We took the boys on vacation to Cincy the first week of September. We hit up the Cincy Zoo, Newport Aquarium, and the Creation Museum, and spent plenty of time exploring along the river. Then the boys stayed with grandparents for a few days while we visited Brown County. It was a great week, and I was chomping at the bit to get back to my babies by the end of the week. Cincy was a great city and we will be back. And now I’ve been to Ikea.

We spent last weekend rearranging our house. Big boy J and Sweet Baby P now share a room. We moved into P’s room (which had been our room for 10 years or so), and our downstairs bedroom became a toy room. I was so tired of the toy explosion in the living room and overflowing out of the toy closet. Now we’re all sleeping upstairs, the toys have an entire room all to themselves, and I have storage space by getting our living room closet back. Win-win for everyone!

It’s been a hard week with dealing with an adoption-related issue, calling people out on stereotypes, and other …stuff. Vague enough.

Sweet Baby P is now Sweet Toddler P, turning ONE yesterday. Party is this weekend, so we didn’t do much. We picked up a play tunnel at Ikea for him for his birthday, so he got that last night and both boys had plenty of fun with it.

J came into our bed at about 2:30 this morning, and after tossing and turning forever, he said he was sick. Great. I moved down to the couch with him and spent the rest of the night monitoring a fever and cleaning up puke. He says he feels better this morning. We’ll see. He’s not clammy anymore and doesn’t look like death warmed over, so hopefully he’s on the mend. As long as the rest of us don’t get it.

Speaking of J, preschool is going FABULOUS. He goes on Mondays and Fridays, and loves it. His favorite friend is Lily. He likes to get out of the boys line to hug the girls in the their line when they are lining up at the door.

P is a walking, talking, opinionated little boy who has a fascination with the dangerous – outlets, specifically. He gave up his bottle last week and hasn’t looked back. I just tried his cup for his bedtime bottle one night, and he was done. He’s also completely table-fed now and will eat anything. Except eggs. Tried those and spent the next 3 days giving him allergy medicine. He can handle small amounts of milk, but not much without breaking out, so I’ve been giving him almond milk with a bit of whole milk in it.

And now, after an up all night type of night, it’s time to feed the little one and let the smell of coffee permeate my nose and the hot dark roast coerce me to wake up.

At 11 months, P is an enigma. Part baby who LOVES his bottles and still very much is attached at the hip to me, a baby who needs Mama cuddles to settle down for bed, part a toddler force to be reckoned with. He’s walking and has been for nearly a month. He climbs stairs and pulls stuff out of the kitchen cupboards. It won’t be long before he will most likely be able to pull down the baby gate with sheer force and determination. Within the last 24 hours, he has opened the bathroom door at my parents’ house, flushed the toilet (here at home) numerous times, and RIPPED THE OUTLET COVER OFF THE OUTLET.

What on earth am I going to do with this kid?

He clearly is a kid who needs a lot of physical motion, and with winter approaching, I’m looking at getting him a mini trampoline or a ball pit. Or both. He will need something that provides lots of gross motor movement indoors. Busy doesn’t even begin to describe him, and I’m sure it won’t be long before we’re putting alarms on the doors.

We’ve been working with him to go to sleep and stay sleeping, not wake up the moment we go to walk out of the room. My iPod has been commandeered and designated as baby sleeping music. A blankie tucked around him tightly seems to help too.

I’m very conscious of the fact that my day of having a baby are numbered. As in, less than 30. He is our last baby (but according to Josh, God has other plans), so I’m kind of sentimental about the entire thing. 1 should be fun. And with him, a challenge to keep him alive.

Remember back a few posts ago when I talked about doing preschool at home? Yeah. That didn’t go over so well. I’d still like to consider homeschooling in the future, possibly, but preschool…not my cup of tea. Josh wasn’t having fun. I wasn’t having fun. I was actually quite frustrated. It’s a square. See, 4 sides. Look, this is a square too. Here, let’s draw one. See, it’s a square. Now, what shape is it?

Add that to the fact that 3 1/2 is very hard around here with all the screaming and such, and I called last week to enroll J in preschool. Yesterday was his first day.

He was a wee bit excited. He happily went into his preschool room and kissed me goodbye. And I (mostly) happily walked out. For the next 2 1/2 hours, it was just me and baby P. And it was kind of nice. And I was ready to pick him up when it was done. According to him, they ate cookies and played on the playground. For 2 1/2 hours. No wonder he had so much fun!

I didn’t cry, not once. There may have been a bit of melancholy-ness around here on my part, but no tears. Except for the tears of joy.